101 Ways to Annoy the Batman
by MorganOfTheFey
Summary: 1. Bad Jokes 2. Dead Baby Jokes 3. Puns 4. Card Tricks 5. Itching Powder 6. Music 7. Talking 8. Silence 9. Dancing 10. Sexting Each chapter is a prompt, all the way up to one hundred and one. Suggestions and reviews accepted. Currently rated T for language.
1. Bad Jokes

"Tilt it over the edge—no, not _throw_! Tilt! Tiiiil_**t**_!" The Joker screamed.

His henchmen quickly obeyed, holding it just at the edge.

"What do we do now, boss?" One of the thugs huffed.

"We wait..." Joker paused for dramatic effect. "For the drop!"

The clown laughed hysterically, but as usual, no one else got the joke. Even Marcus looked confused, and he was the one who listed to that awful, seizure inducing music.

Joker decided that would be his next great plan. He would set up speakers all over the city and force the citizens of Gotham to listen to dubstep. The people would probably start rioting and frothing at the mouth.

"Boss, Kyle says she's on her way."

Joker nodded absently at the henchman, flipped open the burner phone, and hit dial.

"Hello?"

"Hello, _Misssss_ Dawes."

"Joker!"

"Spades."

"I...what? How did you get my number?"

The Joker rolled his eyes. "It's in the fucking phone book."

"Oh."

Really, why was everyone in Gotham so stupid?

Rachael Dawes exited the building, her phone pressed to her ear. Joker had to lean forward a bit, but she was just visible from the rooftop.

"Stop right..._there_." Joker said, his voice starting at a growl and ending in a mockingly light tone.

"Why?"

"_Why_?" The Joker repeated. "Because I have a joke for you, silly!"

Rachael was silent, looking nervously to her left and right, although she hadn't yet thought to turn around and look up.

"What's green, fuzzy, has four legs, and if it falls out off a building...it'll kill ya?!"

"Wha—"

The Joker motioned to his henchmen, and they let go. He could hear Rachael scream and the phone disconnected just as there was a satisfying crash from below.

Yet when he leaned back over the side, he didn't see any mangled body parts. He was disappointed until he saw the Batman helping Rachael up just to the side, apparently having knocked her out of the way.

Joker flipped his cell phone back open, entered a new number, and called again. Rachael may not be dead, but the opportunity to let his Bats in on the joke was too good to pass up.

A payphone rang across the street.

One of the pedestrians next to it tried to answer, but The Joker casually took out a gun and fired off a few shots. None of them hit anyone, but the people scattered.

Batman looked up at the rooftop, then at the ringing phone. He seemed to debate for a few moments before he walked over and answered it.

"What the fuck was that, Joker?!" He growled.

The Joker broke down with a case of the giggle before he could gasp out an answer.

"A pool table!"

**A/N: So that's one of my favorite jokes, and no one else ever seems to like it. Anyway, this is prompt number one for 101 Ways to Annoy the Batman. Each prompt will be a story, and I'm definitely open to suggestions from reviews.**

**Hint. Hint.**

**Right now this story is rated T for language, but I'm not at all against raising the rating to M for "adult situations."**

**Like sex.**

**But until then, it'll stay at T. I also plan to update at least one of my stories every Friday. I only have two stories published as of yet, but there are plans for others! This story has a lot shorter chapters though, so it may get updated more often, so keep checking back!**


	2. Dead Baby Jokes

_What's worse than ten dead babies nailed to a tree? One dead baby nailed to ten trees._

And with that, Gotham's police force scoured Central Park.

_How do you make a dead baby float? Take your foot off its head._

Then they dredged the bay.

_What do you call a dead baby with no arms and no legs hanging on your wall? Art._

Searched all the museums and galleries.

_What's the difference between a Cadillac and a pile of dead babies? I don't have a Cadillac in my garage._

That's what finally got Batman to come running.

Oh sure, with no dead babies by that point, Gotham PD was pretty sure The Joker was just...**joking**. But "pretty sure" wouldn't save them from public crucifixion if there **had** been a dead baby and they hadn't investigated.

So each threat/joke had to be taken seriously.

And Batman was pissed.

Relieved of course, that so far he hadn't seen a dead baby at the location scribbled on the back of the last note.

But there was no sign of The Joker, and he was still pissed.

"You wanted me here?! Here I am."

Nothing.

"Show yourself!"

Zip.

"JOKER!"

Nada.

"Then I'm leaving."

"So soon?"

Batman didn't even bother to whirl around and demand to know how The Joker had gotten behind him—**him**!

He was the night!

"Explain yourself."

The Joker walked around Batman's side, fingers linked and arms stretched out behind his back, his steps comically large.

"Wellllll..." The clown drawled, his posture the very picture of childish innocence. "I wanted to _ask_ you something, and I don't ex_act.._ly have your ah..._number _as it were...soooooo..."

"What?!" Batman growled, resisting the urge to sigh and pinch the bridge of his nose like an exasperated parent.

The Joker dropped the innocent pretense and scurried over to a section of the room that was blocked off by a dingy curtain.

"Will you..."

He paused and licked his lips.

"Be my..."

He grabbed a side of the curtain.

"Baby?"

The Joker threw back the curtain to reveal a tiny folding table with two lawn chairs, a single candle, and a box of gas station wine.

Batman laughed.

The Joker nearly had a seizure from rage. Batman had never, ever, **ever** laughed at one of his jokes, and now, the one time, the ONE FUCKING TIME he was trying to be serious, the winged rodent **laughed** at him.

Normally, the irony of _the Batman_ laughing while _he_ shook with rage would have been enough to start him off on his own hysterics, but not today.

No, not today of all days.

Batman finally stopped laughing, a noise that actually sounded more like he was having his own seizure.

"Am I hallucinating?"

The Joker wanted nothing more than to shriek at him that it was **their anniversary**and maybe even stab him a bit for forgetting, except there **was** something he wanted more than even that.

"No, you're not." Joker said, his voice normal for once.

"Then you have _got_ to be shitting me."

That nearly set The Joker off, but he noticed just in time that Batman didn't even seem to be addressing him, necessarily. It was hard to see under the cowl, but it almost seemed as if his eyes were raised heavenward, and he was addressing the universe in general.

"Not joking, Batman."

**That** got the Batman's attention, and his eyes dropped back down to the clown's face. He didn't say anything for several moments, clearly waiting for The Joker's voice to go back to its "normal" insane tone as he screeched out some sort of punchline.

But The Joker didn't say anything either, and the two men just stared at each other, the candle flickering awkwardly behind the curtain.

Batman opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again, cleared his throat, then shook his head.

"I always wondered if you were just acting. Playing up the whole insanity thing in case you were ever caught, but now I know." He looked The Joker in the eye. "You really are crazy."

"Crazy about you."

But it wasn't said with any particular, maniacal enthusiasm. In fact, The Joker had forced it out through gritted teeth.

"You're serious."

It wasn't a question, but the Batman was clearly waiting for The Joker to deny it, which he didn't.

"Then I'm leaving." Batman said, already turning toward the door.

"Fine!" Joker snapped at his back.

He collapsed heavily into one of the lawn chairs and ripped the bottle of wine out of its box.

"You aren't..." Batman paused at the door. "..._really_ going to kill any babies, are you?"

"No! GOD, just leave!" Joker shouted, tearing at the foil around the cork.

When he glanced up again a few seconds later, Batman was gone.

**A/N: So I'm not sure how MUCH of a plot I can promise, but I would really like to keep this storyline going because I've always loved these too together.**

**Also, no promises on the order of the prompts. I may change or switch them at will, to better fit whatever plotline I piece together.**

**Finally, I chose to update this story instead of my Avengers/Batman crossover fic. I may put up a chapter two for that story later, but I've had tests this week (yeah, college student) so sacrifices had to be made, and so I only updated the more popular of my two stories.**

**PS: All reviews are answered by The Joker. He's a real fucking nice guy like that.**


	3. Puns

Batman was having a baaad day. It had started with the morning news, when the camera had panned over for Weather with Wendy and revealed The Joker casually leaning against the map instead.

"Gooooood morning, Gotham!" He had purred. "Today's going to be cloudy, with a high chance of _ex-plo-sions_."

The camera shook, and an arm splayed across the floor was just visible at the bottom of the screen.

"But I could be wrong." The Joker continued with a blasé shrug. "Maybe that last word could be _pre-ci-pi-_tation. Just ah...hit me up, and say the magic words, Batsy."

He stalked froward and leaned down so that his face was even with the camera, smile filling the screen.

"Your first _clue_ is the word...'yes.'"

Then he was gone, and no one had been able to find him since. The news station still didn't even know how he had managed to get inside, and Wendy was in the hospital.

One of the hospitals that hadn't been evacuated at least.

And, of course, as always, the public was furious.

_Why couldn't anyone find The Joker? What was he going to bomb? Why hadn't the Batman just caught him yet?_

Yeah, Batman would get right fucking on that with his super mind reading abilities. It wasn't as if The Joker was**insane** or that the Gotham police force was constantly trying to arrest both the clown **and** the vigilante or anything.

But as bad of a day as Batman was having, Bruce Wayne's day turned out to be even worse when a dead rabbit showed up at the front door of his mansion via UPS because, apparently, they really will ship anything anywhere.

And if there was any doubt whom the dead rabbit was from, its mouth had been cut open in a smile.

Bruce considered calling Gordon, but then he would have to think of a plausible explanation for why The Joker was sending him dead woodland creatures.

Oh sure, he could have just pointed out that The Joker was...well...**insane**. But since The Joker also seemed to have figured out Batman's alter ego was Bruce Wayne—

—or that Bruce Wayne's alter ego was Batman—

—involving the police in any way, shape, or form would probably only compound the problem rather than actually solving it, especially considering how useless Gotham PD was.

Because really, if they had been any good in the first place, Batman would never have needed to exist.

So now Batman was in his cave, using highly invasive technology in an attempt to find The Joker, or at the very least, the implied bomb.

"Master Wayne, you have another parcel." Alfred announced.

Batman leaned back in his chair with a heavy sigh. "Is it dead?"

"Inanimate, sir."

"Explosive?"

"Highly unlikely, although I already ran it through the scanners to be sure."

"What is it then?"

Alfred walked over to the desk in front of the wall of monitors where his master sat.

"A horseshoe, sir."

He set it down with a clatter. Batman glanced down at it, and they both started at the horseshoe for several moments.

Finally, Batman looked up, but when he spoke, it was in the voice of Bruce.

"He's fucking insane, Alfred." Bruce said, almost pleading.

"I know, sir." The butler replied.

"The last time, he hit on me!"

"Literally or...?"

"He had _wine_, Alfred!"

"Truly repulsive, sir."

Bruce tried to swipe a hand through his hair, but the cowl was in the way, which now seemed ridiculous as he had nowhere to go and no one to punch.

It looked like it would be Bruce, not Batman, who saved this day.

**If** he could save the day.

Bruce took off the cowl and gloves—although he left the kevlar armor on—and picked up the horseshoe. Even upon closer examination, it refused to provide any profound insight into The Joker's madness.

"How am I even supposed to call him?!" Bruce demanded, dropping the horseshoe back onto the table.

"This was taped to the package in place of a return address, sir." Alfred replied.

The butler placed a playing card next to the horseshoe—the joker of course.

Bruce picked up the card and took a second to glare at the grinning jester before he flipped it over. A telephone number was scrawled in messy handwriting across the back.

"Yes, a rabbit, and a horseshoe. Those are my only clues."

Bruce let the card fall back to the table and looked at the ceiling for inspiration. When none came, he looked back at Alfred.

"Do you think I could just say, 'pretty please'?"

Alfred simply gave him a look, and Bruce sighed again. He wished his friend had agreed to stay somewhere else for his safety, now that The Joker knew who Batman really was.

Several hours passed without any epiphanies, and Bruce's only consolidation was that The Joker hadn't set any particular deadline for the call.

Then again, that also meant something in Gotham could blow up at any second.

Bruce was working with the theory that each clue either stood for a particular word to make a three word phrase. He had considered they might combine together to make one word, but after watching the news clip replay a few dozen times, he decided that The Joke definitely said words, plural.

But "yes rabbit horseshoe" didn't make any sense.

He had scoured the Internet for anything pertaining to rabbits and horseshoes, which brought up a lot of myths about luck, but none of it felt right, and it didn't make use of the word "yes."

Bruce had eventually decided to take a lunch break, after Alfred had threatened to force feed him if he didn't.

"You need to take better care of yourself, Master Wayne." He chided. "I might not always be here to do it for you."

Bruce grunted an affirmative, still staring at the horseshoe and rabbit, which he ad brought down much to Alfred's complaint.

"Really sir, are you sure you don't want me to dispose of the hart? It's starting to smell." Alfred wrinkled his nose and eyed the rabbit with distaste.

"No, I—wait, what did you call it?" Bruce asked, abruptly setting down his sandwich.

"A hart, but I don't see—"

"Which is another word for rabbit." Bruce said over his friend. "What's another word for 'yes'?"

Alfred thought for a moment. "Aye, sir."

"Aye hart..." Bruce paused and picked up the last object. "Horseshoe?"

Alfred blinked, then grasped Bruce's hand and turned it until the ends of the horseshoe pointed at the ceiling.

"Aye hart U."

"I heart you." Bruce repeated.

Then he pulled out his cell phone and dialed. Calling The Joker would only confirm Batman's true identity, but he couldn't risk the madman blowing up another hospital if he didn't make the call.

The ringing finally stopped as someone picked up.

"Well it _took_ you long enough, Brucey boy."

"Where's the bomb?" Bruce growled, Batman once more.

"What's the magic _wooo-ords_?" Joker sang.

"...I heart you."

"No no no no no, that isn't...good..._enough_."

Batman almost threw up on his cell phone.

"I...l—lo..."

"That's right, Batsy...just, ugh..._say it_."

"Joker, I swear on all that is holy, if you're doing what I think you're doing right now..."

"Oh, so you think...mhmmm...about jacking off to _my_ voice too?"

CLICK.

"Something the matter, sir?" Alfred asked.

Because **of course** his butler and oldest friend was still in the room. He probably heard what the maniac was doing through the phone speakers, he was moaning loud enough.

"Yes, the smell of dead bunny is giving me a headache. Could you take it out?"

Each word was carefully measured and said in a completely even tone. Alfred wisely said nothing and quietly left with the rabbit.

Batman fumed and debated and even literally shook with anger at one point, then picked the phone back up and redialed.

"Iloveyou." He snarled in one word. "Now is something going to explode or not?!"

"...yes."

"But I—"

"Ohhhhh, _Bruce_!"

Batman threw the cell phone at the wall. He **really** needed to work on his word choice—but first, a shower.

With bleach and steel wool because no matter how much he scrubbed, he had the sinking feeling that he would never be clean again.


	4. Card Tricks

As much as The Joker just wanted to kidnap Bruce Wayne, throw him over his shoulder, and lock the billionaire in his basement—literally—the prince of chaos didn't think Bruce could take any more of his...advances.

And he didn't want to break his new toy just yet.

So The Joker decided to dial it back a notch, and just stick to good, clean murder for a while.

Starting with that bitch, Rachael.

Who was currently tied to a chair.

Soaked in gasoline.

The sound of the clown's footsteps as he walked into the room caused her to jerk and frantically turn her blindfolded head back and forth. The Joker ignored her for the time and walked over to the henchchlown who had tied up the Assistant DA while he checked to be sure no one would notice her absence.

"Here ya go, boss."

The minion handed his boss a lighter, and The Joker dismissed him with a jerk of his head.

"Joker, is that you?" Rachael asked.

Said madman turned around, and his smile dimmed. Maybe he should call the man back and kill him for not gagging her.

"What do you want with me?"

"What do I..._want..._withRachael Dawes, Assistant DOA?" The Joker repeated, flicking open the lid to the lighter.

"Assistant DA." She corrected.

The Joker looked up from the lighter. "_Re_ally? And here I could have _sworn_ there was an 'O' in there. Well, you'll be...DOA soon."

He burst into giggles while he waited for that to sink in, still flicking the lid open and shut.

"No, I won't."

The confidence in Rachael's voice made The Joker stop, and his smile turned frozen. He leaned against the wall and waved his hand, even if she couldn't see the motion.

"_Do_ go on."

She took a deep breath and lifted her chin. "The Gotham PD saved me last time, and if they don't do it again, Batman will."

Except The Joker had actually been discrete—for once—in his kidnapping because he was hoping Batman wouldn't show up for just this one time—another first.

But explaining that to her would just waste even more time, so The Joker flicked on the lighter.

Just as Batman burst through the door like an actual fucking superhero.

The vigilante started toward Rachael, but The Joker got there first, holding the lighter just over her head.

"Ah-ah-ahhh." The clown sang, waving a finger at the Batman with his free hand.

Who shouldn't even be there, because **no one** knew of the bitch's disappearing act. Which meant perhaps Batman was monitoring Rachael, although that was highly unlikely since The Joker had been stalking her himself for two weeks and hadn't noticed anything.

"Let her go." Batman growled, although he took a step back.

So if Batman wasn't following Rachael, then that must mean he was following...him—The Joker.

Who promptly threw his head back in a maniacal cackle at the realization.

"Batman?"

"It's alright, I won't let him hurt you."

The Joker stopped laughing. Nothing quite like sappy, heartfelt exchanges to kill the buzz.

Even worse, he knew Batman was at least half right. Although he could probably kill Rachael, it might make Batman break his one rule, particularly in the light of The Joker's recent...phone call.

But maybe it would be worth it to watch the bitch burn.

Batman growled and took a step forward when The Joker suddenly reached into his pocket, but a wave of the lighter stopped him from getting any closer.

"I just want to play a friendly game of caaaaaards, that's all." The Joker said with mock innocence.

His right hand showed a spread of four jokers, and he slowly waved them around so Batman could see the cards from all angles.

"I'll let her go..._if_." The Joker paused and absently licked his lips. "You can pick out a joker. If not..."

The clown gestured at Rachael with his left hand, the lighter coming dangerously close to her hair.

Batman looked back at the cards spread in The Joker's hand. Of course, what he didn't know was that in the brief second he had looked toward Rachael, the trickster had already switched the cards out with the four Aces up his sleeve.

But he probably suspected.

"We_llll-uh_?" The Joker asked, flicking his tongue out at the end of the last syllable.

"I just have to pick any joker, and you won't hurt her or resist arrest?" Batman asked.

That last part hadn't been part of the deal, but what the hell.

The Joker straightened out of his habitual slouch. "I give you my word."

Batman stared at the cards, debating, and the clown had to fight the urge to start laughing again. He might die—or at the very least, get beaten to within an inch of it—but it would be worth it to never have to listen to Rachael act like she was oh-so-important to **his** Batsy. Ever. Again.

"I choose..." Batman paused and met the madman's gaze. "You."

Fuck.

That was something even The Joker didn't see coming, and he was tempted to drop the lighter anyway, just out of pure spite.

But then the meaning of the words really hit him. Brucey-boy might not know it yet, but there was more truth in that sentence than probably anything else the billionaire had ever said.

The Joker clicked the lid shut before he dropped it just as a special reward for Batman finally saying out loud what he'd always tried to deny.

Then he lunged forward, half tackling the other man as he pressed their lips together.

It wasn't **quite** the way he had imagined their first kiss, and Batman's lips remained frozen and impassive out of shock, but damn if it wasn't **absolute perfection**.

The Joker continued to take advantage of Batman's temporary paralysis to ravage his mouth, nipping and sucking eagerly at the vigilante's bottom lip.

He had almost succeeded in drawing the stubborn bit of flesh into his own mouth when he was shoved away and punched so hard, his feet probably left the ground altogether.

"Wh-what's happening? Batman?" The dumb bitch cried, still tied to the chair and unaware of the glorious mouth rape that had just happened beside her.

The Joker's head had slammed into the floor when he hit the ground, and he could already feel a bad case of the fuzzies coming on, despite his gleeful giggles.

True to his word, The Joker lay there—although not exactly quietly—and didn't resist arrest, mainly because he had already passed out.

But it was definitely worth it.

**a/n: So I'm a day late...and I have no defense...sorry. On the bright side, I promise I'll update on time next week, despite it being spring break.**

**Also, I'm upping the rating for this story to M, which I probably should have done after last week's update, and will definitely have to do before next week's update ;)**

**And for those who didn't catch on or have questions, this is set after TDK, but Rachael was saved by the Gotham PD. She went into witness protection though, pretty much exactly the way Gordon did, so that everyone (including Harvey) thought she was dead.**

**She might appear in later updates, so just keep that in mind.**


	5. Itching Powder

Business was going well, the paparazzi had finally stopped calling him an arsonist, and The Joker had remained quiet in Arkam for nearly an entire week now.

It had been a good day.

And Bruce had severely needed a few days after the...**incident**.

The Joker was locked away though, and that was finally over now. In fact, with that damn clown off the streets, Batman probably didn't even **need** to go out tonight.

But Bruce Wayne did, because what else was there for him to do?

So he strode into the batcave and put on some light gym clothes in preparation of donning his kevlar armor the way he did every night.

The process usually took about fifteen minutes since he had been doing it so long, it seemed as if he could probably dress himself in his sleep, despite all of the hooks and buckles.

He had just secured his cowl and was about to put on his gloves when the itching started.

It was just at his neck at first, then in his hair. But when he ripped off the cowl and leaned forward to inspect it, the motion caused the itching to spread down the back of his neck and across his back.

He instinctively twisted around to grab at his back as if he could stop or scratch it through his suit, but that only made it infinitely worse as the itching spread even further.

"ALFRED!" Batman shouted.

The itching was terrible, but the sinking suspicion that it was The Joker who had caused whatever was happening burned even worse.

And if the maniac had managed to get into the batcave, what else could he have done?

"ALFRED?!"

When there was still no reply, Batman ignored the nearly overpowering urge to scratch himself raw and bounded up the stairs, not bothering to waste time waiting for the elevator.

The itching seemed to have burrowed its way into his skin by the time he reached the hall. He almost staggered past his bedroom but noticed that the door was slightly open.

"Alfred?" He called again, looking wildly around his room, hardly able to focus on anything but the need to **scratch**.

There was still no reply, and the itching had grown too strong. Batman started to rip off the pieces of his armor, reasoning that he would hardly be in any shape to rescue Alfred if he couldn't concentrate on anything else other than the burning.

He kicked his boots off and had almost succeeded in removing the chest plate too, when a horribly familiar voice stopped him.

"Mmmhmm...take it off, _Batsy._"

Batman looked up in horror to see The Joker.

Sprawled across his bed.

With his pants around his ankles and his hand around his...

Later, when he had nightmares that perfectly documented every second of the moment, Batman wouldn't be proud of the sound he made. Because if he were to honestly describe it, he had shrieked.

Not shouted or roared or snarled or anything manly like that.

No, the goddamn Batman had **shrieked** in terror.

And then he ran.

"Master, wha—"

Bruce nearly ran over Alfred in his attempt to get away, only just throwing himself to the side and practically smacking into the wall instead.

"Shower!" He gasped.

Alfred spent only a moment taking in his younger ward's disheveled appearance before replying, "Right away, sir."

The manservant turned to enter the bathroom that was connected to the main bedroom, but Bruce grabbed his arm.

"Downstairs." He said, practically dragging his friend down the steps.

Alfred looked back and forth between Bruce and down the hall as he followed, and the dawning realization hit him.

"Shall I prepare the disinfectant and steel wool, sir?" He asked.

"Yes. And the gasoline." Bruce muttered.

"Excuse me?"

"Gasoline. I'm burning the entire west wing, with him in it!"

Alfred watched as Bruce stumbled into the bathroom, still muttering about "burning" and "never clean."

Another shriek echoed from upstairs, fading out in a long groan.

The manservant added bleaching his master's sheets to his mental to do list and prepared himself for a **long** night.

**A/N: So here's this week's update, just like I promised! It's even somewhat early in the afternoon! WHOO!**

**Thank you all for the lovely reviews, and I will try to bribe The Joker into replying to them just as soon as we get back from the movies—He wants to see Olympus Has Fallen. Something about checking up on Harvey...**


	6. Music

Bruce Wayne stayed under the spray of the shower long after the water had turned cold. When he emerged, his skin was freshly washed, to the point of being scrubbed raw. His hair was wet but sill perfect, and his scalp was no longer plagued by itching powder.

But his soul still felt slimy.

Alfred appeared at his side the instant he exited the bathroom, and the billionaire was relieved to see that no harm had befell his friend in the past hour.

"I've thoroughly disinfected the batsuit, Master Wayne, but I haven't yet had the opportunity to clean your bedroom." The butler said.

So The Joker was still in his room then.

"Did you fetch the gasoline?" Bruce asked.

Alfred blinked. "Sir?"

"Never mind." Bruce immediately replied, avoiding his friend's worried gaze. "Do a sweep of the batcave and check the security cameras to see how he got in."

"Yes, Master Wayne." Alfred said, although he didn't move from his ward's side.

"...I'll be upstairs." Bruce muttered after a somewhat awkward pause. Only then did Alfred give a reluctant nod and walk away.

Bruce looked at the stairs and wondered if perhaps he shouldn't don the batsuit after all. But it seemed ridiculous to walk around in the suit in his own mansion, almost as if he would be cowering behind it. And he couldn't show even the slightest hint of weakness to a madman like The Joker.

Besides, Alfred had provided a few bat-a-rangs and some knockout gas along with the clothes he had laid out, so he wouldn't be completely unarmed.

And Bruce was certain that the longer he left The Joker to his own devices, the worse the consequences would be.

So with a slimy soul, a heavy heart, and even heavier feet, Bruce trudged up the stairs, back to his bedroom. Before he even reached the top of the stairs, the sound of music reached his ears.

_Eleanor Rigby died in the church and was buried along with her name...nobody came. _

That was one of his priceless Beatles albums playing, and it was enough to make Bruce suddenly pick up the pace.

_Father McKenzie wiping the dirt from his hands as he walks from the grave..._

He threw open the door and entered the room at an irritated stride. Just as he suspected, The Joker was still in his room, touching his near irreplaceable vinyl record player.

_...no one was saved..._

"Don't touch that!" Bruce snapped, for lack of anything better to say.

The Joker took the record off. "Don't touch that, stop touching that, don't touch me theeeeere! Is that all I'm _ever_ going to hear from you, Bruce?"

Said billionaire attempted not to flinch at the callous and personal use of his first name, but from the new spark in the clown's eyes, he wasn't sure that he succeeded.

"Just set the record down."

"Oh, alright." The Joker turned around and rolled his eyes. "I'll even do it...gen-_t_-ly if you want."

Bruce resisted the urge to flat out snarl at the other man and his oh-so-clever innuendos.

"So to what do I owe the _pleasure_ of your com-pa-ny?" The Joker drawled, leaning against the bedpost.

Bruce almost had a rage induced seizure.

"You're in _my_ fucking house!" He shouted.

Too late he realized that without the gravel tone of his Batman voice, his own voice tended to go rather shrill when he shouted.

The Joker was silent for several moments, almost as if he was deliberately giving Bruce time to recover his composure.

"What are you going to do about it?" He asked.

Bruce considered using the knockout gas or better yet, his fists, but he pushed his rage back down and forced himself to think things through. Once he did, he noticed The Joker wasn't smiling. His last question hadn't even been said in a mocking tone, either.

In fact, the clown looked, dare he say, **serious**.

Bruce took a deep breath. "We need to talk."

**a/n: Alright, so I know it's late in the evening, and I didn't update last week. To make up for it, I'm putting up too chapters tonight! I messed with the order of the prompts a bit though to keep this strange thing called a "plot" going. I don't know if I'll ever get back to turning this into a drabble series...**


	7. Talking

_Bruce took a deep breath. "We need to talk."_

The Joker narrowed his eyes. "Are you breaking up with me?"

"Would you slash my tires if I did?" Bruce retorted.

"Tires, throats...tomato, to-mah-to." The Joker said with a casual wave of his hand.

The mention of killing brought the dire situation back into focus. Sometimes it was far too easy to fall into an almost familiar sort of banter with the madman.

"Follow me." Bruce demanded, turning on his heel and exiting the room, his shoulder blades itching with the anticipation of a knife.

He didn't want to have this conversation with The Joker—didn't ever want to speak to him again—but he would be damned if he had it in his bedroom after what the other man had done on his own bed.

"Ooo! Do I get a touuuur?" The Joker asked, falling into step behind him.

"You're about to get a broken bone if you don't shut up." Bruce growled in his Batman voice.

Maybe his arm. Or some part of his face? The jaw or nose perhaps. But why limit himself to just one? Why not all of the above?

Then Bruce noticed The Joker wasn't following him anymore. He whirled around, hand instinctively reaching for the bat-a-rang tucked in the back of his waistband, but The Joker had merely been distracted by one of the paintings adorning the hall.

And he was currently touching the paint directly with his fingers, which almost definitely hadn't been washed since he—

Bruce desperately and immediately shut down that train of thought.

"What did I tell you about touching things?!" He snarled.

The Joker turned around with a leering grin and started to make a gesture with his hand, but Bruce grabbed the offending appendage and used it to drag the clown down the stairs behind him.

It wasn't until they reached the kitchen that he realized to an outsider, it may seem as if the two men were holding hands. And when he checked behind him, he saw that The Joker was smiling in a dreamy way that was only slightly psychotic.

He immediately let go, not that The Joker cooperated by doing the same. In the end, he was forced to peel the other man's hand off of his own, the aforementioned man instantly going into a sulk.

Bruce pulled out a bar stool that sat in front of a counter island in the middle of the kitchen.

"Sit."

The Joker obeyed with all the petulance of a naughty child.

"We clearly need to establish some ground rules." Bruce said, crossing his arms.

"But I haaaaaate rules." The Joker whined.

"And I hate you, but you just keep popping up, now don't you?" Bruce snapped.

The Joker pressed his scarred lips together and seemed to struggle with something for a moment before speaking again.

"As a show of good faith, I won't even make a dirty joke about that." He finally announced.

Bruce's first impulse was to backhand him off the stool, but even Batman recognized that as a bit too harsh. Plus, he was intrigued by the first part of the clown's sentence, and he wanted to see how far he could push this so-called "good faith."

"No matter how many security systems I put in place, I doubt I'll ever be able to keep you out-"

Bruce was interrupted by a giggle, which he forced himself to wait out. Once The Joker had calmed down, he continued.

"So the first rule is that you don't harm Alfred in any way. At all. Ever." He said, the last word a trademark Batman snarl.

The Joker actually stopped smiling and sat up straight. "I know."

Bruce just stared at him.

"Contrary to what you may think I don't want you to _hate_ me. Well," The Joker paused and snickered. "...a bit of angry sex wouldn't hurt—actually, it probably would, but in a reeeeeally good way."

He had to stop and clear his throat to keep from laughing at Bruce's outraged expression.

"No no no no. I want you to _love _me. And none of that ponies and rainbow shit. I want _real_ love, the kind that _bleeds_."

The Joker closed his eyes in an ecstatic expression, and Bruce fought the urge to vomit. He was fairly certain abstract concepts couldn't bleed, and even if they could, associating love and bleeding was probably the reason The Joker ended up in Arkham in the first place.

But if the madman's twisted form of love kept Alfred safe, then so be it. In fact, it might help keep a lot of other people safe too.

First things first though.

"Second rule." Bruce continued as if he had never even heard The Joker's almost declaration of love. "You do not enter mine or Alfred's bedroom or the batcave."

The Joker appeared to consider. "Fine, but if you have a place to get away from me, then I want a place to wait you out."

"No."

"Then I'll just lurk outside your bedroom door and listen to you sleep." The Joker shrugged.

Bruce grimaced. "Fine. You can have a spare guest bedroom."

"That no one else can enter." The Joker interjected.

"_I _will enter any room in _my_ house whe—"

"Yeah, sure. And Alfred can clean and do-" The Joker made another one of his random hand gestures. "-butler things. But I _will not_ have some floozie from your shower of cunts staying in _my_ room."

"Then they'll stay in mine." Bruce replied.

"You fuck her, I kill her." The Joker gave another blasé shrug.

"Is that what your thing with Rachael is?" Bruce asked.

The Joker slouched back down into his sulk. "Fucking pug-faced bitch."

Bruce let out a harsh sigh, bordering on a snarl. "Fine."

The Joker sat up as if pulled by strings. "I can kill Rachael?"

"No!" Bruce glared at him. "You can have a room that's only yours. And if you promise to leave Rachael alone, I'll...stop dating."

It wasn't as if he cared about any of the women, and if celibacy was the price for Rachael's safety, it was worth it.

Which perhaps didn't say too many complimentary things about the current state of Bruce's sex life, but he pushed that thought aside.

"No sleeping around either."

"Fine."

Now it was time for the big issue.

"Going to tell me to stop killing?" The Joker asked before Bruce could say anything. "Because I'm actually late for a thing at a place with some people soooooo...we can just ah, ne-go-tiate later."

The drawl was back, and so was the mad gleam in The Joker's eyes when he stood up. Bruce moved in front of him to stop him from leaving.

"What makes you think you're in any position to negotiate?" Bruce growled down at the slightly shorter man.

The Joker looked genuinely shocked. "Why, Batsy. Because you _need_ me of course."

Bruce scowled. "I don't need you in any way, shape, or form. If anything, I need you _out_ of my life."

The Joker drew himself up to his full height, which Bruce noted with annoyance was precariously close to his own.

"You'll see."

Before Bruce could process The Joker's ominous whisper, the madman had already attacked his lips with his own scarred mouth. But before he could punch him off like the last time, The Joker had already drawn away and retreated to the other side of the kitchen.

"Don't you worry your pre-_tt_-y little head, Brucy-boy." The Joker purred. "I'll take the back way out. God for_bid_ the press catch Gotham's scourge doing the walk of shame out of your mansion."

With that and a maniacal cackle, The Joker finally left.

Bruce sagged against the counter and tried to convince himself that he was only putting up with the madman's antics for the good of Gotham, that the strange obsession the clown had with him would pass, that he didn't _really _want to break his one rule, even if his mouth now tasted like lipstick and shame.

"Oh, and Brucy? You got a little something." The Joker said, popping his head back in the kitchen doorway and motioning to the side of his cheek with a thumb.

"OUT!" Bruce roared.

**A/n: This is the second update for tonight, to make up for the lack of one last week. The prompt for next Friday will be "Silence" where The Joker makes good on his implied threat...which also nicely coincides with my other Batman/Joker story, "The Prince and the Pauper."**

**It's a DC/Marvel crossover where Loki and The Joker conspire together to win the respective affections of Thor and Batman.**

**Since they coincide so nicely, I _might_ update them both at once, depending on what my muse gives me.**


	8. Silence

The first week had been a relief, a blessing, a miracle. The second week had been uneasy, the third filled with paranoia. Now it was nearing the end of week four, and Bruce Wayne had entered full scale denial.

Right along with a possible mental breakdown.

Not only had The Joker disappeared, he had somehow managed to convince even the mobsters to lay low. There weren't any bank robberies, gang wars, or bomb threats. Even the regular criminals seemed to sense the eerie quiet boded ill and had started to hide.

The Gotham PD was ecstatic.

Bruce Wayne was furious.

A month. An entire month with nothing to do but play the part of a spoiled billionaire and obsess over not obsessing over The Joker's disappearance.

And Batman was more than just furious—he was abso-fucking-lutely **livid**. Without any criminals to stop, he had been getting more and more impatient to the point that he had almost arrested a jaywalker last night.

A jaywalker for fuck's sake!

He had tried to distract himself by socializing, going to charity events—hell, he had even went to **work** like a real CEO. He was convinced that all he had to do was out wait The Joker.

Surely The Joker's need to kill was greater than Batman's need to fight crime, right?

* * *

The first week had been itchy, like he was coming offa something and just needed one more fix and there were ants under his skin. The second week a blur, the third a daze. Now it was nearing the end of week four, The Joker had entered full scale withdrawal.

His mental break had happened long ago.

Not only had Batsy degraded their feelings for one another by negotiating with him like he was some sort of fucking terrorist, but then he had had the **nerve** to claim that he didn't need his greatest adversary, his constant companion, his one true hate...er, love.

Batman must be ecstatic.

The Joker was depressed.

A month. An entire month with nothing to do but watch daytime TV and try not to think about Batman not thinking about him.

And The Joker wasn't just depressed—he was damn near catatonic. Without any frails to kill, he had been getting more and more despondent to the point where he had almost considered getting a job.

A job for fuck's sake!

He had tried to distract himself by drinking, sleeping, hell—he had even went to the library to read like an average citizen. He was convinced that all he had to do was out wait Batman.

Surely his love for Batman was greater than his need to kill, right?

* * *

Who **was** The Joker, really?

That was the question that was keeping Bruce awake at three in the morning. He couldn't even say that was what had woken him, because he hadn't slept in days.

What had first caused him to put on the make up? Who had cut open his face, where were his friends, how had he transformed so completely?

He couldn't have always been a madman. Perhaps some people were born evil, but The Joker had always seemed so full of wit, hatred, bitterness...

Evil people were simple. They had never loved, so their hatred was dull. You can't fall if you start out from rock bottom.

That was what The Joker resembled—Lucifer, a dark, fallen angel.

Bruce wondered who had betrayed him, broken him so completely that he hadn't even tried to put himself back together, just wielded the jagged pieces like the knife that had sliced away his humanity.

Bruce wondered why the man had chosen him to cling to, of all people, and why he had chosen All the Lonely People instead of Helter Skelter, and why he changed the story each time he told it.

Bruce wondered...what was his name, anyway?

* * *

Who **was **Bruce Wayne, anyway?

That was the question keeping The Joker from killing some frail at three in the morning. He couldn't even say that was what he actually wanted though, because his new obsession was so intense.

What had first caused him to don the suit? What had happened to the mugger, where was he when his parents died, why had he chosen a bat?

He couldn't have always been a hero. Perhaps some people were born good, but Bruce Wayne had always seemed so full of guilt, anger, bitterness...

Good people were boring. They had never sinned, so their love was dull. You can't appreciate the magnitude of a mountain if you don't start from rock bottom.

That was what Bruce resembled—a barefoot monk trying to climb Everest, whipping himself all the way.

The Joker wondered who had trained him, encouraged the guilt to grow so completely that he didn't even try to move on, just suffocated himself in martyrdom for a tragedy he never could have prevented.

The Joker wondered why he had chosen that man to cling to, of all people, and why he was struggling to choose love over hate, and why he had started to remember pieces of his old life.

The Joker wondered...what was his name, anyway?

* * *

**A/n: So it got kind of angsty here. This is supposed to be a comedy, but this is what my muse gave me to write.**

**But now I'm a little stuck. How do you think this stalemate should end? Should Bruce give in and go searching for The Joker, or should The Joker just walk in like what up I got a big cock...**


	9. Dancing

The Joker was drunk. Really drunk. The kind of drunk that meant the bartender had cut him off and he'd be sweating jello shots the next morning.

He was also pissed. Really pissed. The kind of pissed that meant laying low be damned, someone was going to die tonight.

Yes, he was going to have a quick puke, put his trademark face paint on, and then kill someone juicy.

With that goal in mind, he stumbled out the backdoor and into the alley for step one. It wouldn't take long as the Joker was an expert in all things sick and diseased—both mental **and** physical.

He heaved over for the first wave of nausea, and his hair fell around his face. Not that he cared, it was greasy and disgusting already.

But then a hand pulled it back while another gripped his shoulder to steady him. The Joker tried to turn back and look behind him, but the second wave hit, and he bent double again.

Batman was lurking in an alleyway. Him, the hero, lurking like a common criminal. A couple had stumbled into the alley, but when they saw him, the man moved in front of the woman. Then they had practically ran, as if he would hurt them.

Bruce leaned against the wall and wondered if it was time to seriously rethink his life. There were no schemes to thwart, no criminals to arrest, no civilians to save, no **point**.

Hell, he'd settle for rescuing a cat from a tree.

He was just about to leave and start searching for a therapist when a drunk stumbled out a backdoor and into the alleyway. The other man's back was to him when he leaned over and heaved, his hair falling slipping out of the tie that held it back.

With jackshit else to do, Batman grabbed a shoulder and pulled back most of the hair. The man tried to turn around, but he leaned back over and puked again, and would have collapsed if not for Batman's grip on his shoulder.

"You alright?" Batman asked gruffly.

What was he even doing here? Why couldn't he just stay at his mansion and enjoy his billions of dollars and beautiful women? God, he was such a spoiled, twisted, path—

"Peachy." The other man gasped, his throat raspy.

He gagged once more, but there was nothing else to come up, so he spit instead and straightened up. Batman moved his hand as if to pat the man on the back, but he was pretty sure Batman didn't do that sort of thing, so he let it drop awkwardly back to his side instead.

The other man slouched back against the wall, head bent and hair falling back into his face. Batman stood silently and wondered if he should call a cab. Was there some sort of protocol for this sort of thing?

"Sooooo...you come here often?"

Batman...he did...something. Stuff...and things...

Because he was the goddamn Batman, and surely he would be having a reaction. Any moment now.

The man tilted his head back so that part of his hair fell away, just enough to reveal a flash of green and a too wide smile.

A reaction, like moving or talking or thinking. Breathing maybe? He **was **breathing, wasn't he?

The man turned away and walked back to the door as if the world hadn't just spun a three-sixty, leaving everything back in its place but...shaken.

He opened the door and paused. "We_lllll_?"

Now Batman was moving, but not by any conscious effort. He was just an innocent bystander watching some guy in a cowl follow a drunk man into a bar. Interesting, but of no real relevance to him.

Then they were inside, and there were people touching and pushing the guy in a cowl, but Bruce couldn't feel it. Batman was silent too, even when the drunk man shoved him onto a stool. The other man stumbled onto the dance floor, nearly getting lost by the crowd.

Finally, a reaction, but not quite what it should be—fear. Because if that other, green-eyed man was gone, then where was Bruce? He certainly wasn't in the body dressed as Batman.

But the crowd parted, and he could see the man again, swaying. His movements appeared drunken and random at first, but then a song started, and the world spun again. Maybe it did another three-sixty and everything was still the same, but maybe it had stopped on some odd angle, and everything had changed.

Watching the other man move with the music made it feel like it. Like everything was somehow just three degrees off, like he was the drunk one with double vision.

The song didn't have lyrics, not even any recognizable instruments. It was all bass and noise and _throbbing_. And he was following the rhythm perfectly, head tilted back, sweat dripping down his bared throat. Green eyes and a smile.

Then someone pushed into him and there was a knife.

And suddenly, Batman could move again, was moving toward the two men, grabbing the hand with the knife and twisting the arm around, pulling the drunk man away from an even drunker woman.

"Let's go. You've had enough." Batman growled, trying to pull the Joker away from her.

He resisted at first, then abruptly changed tactics and pressed himself against the length of Batman's kevlar suit.

"Mmmm, but have you?" The Joker whispered, scars brushing against the cowl.

Batman yanked him back by his hair, picked him up, and slung him over his shoulder. The Joker dry heaved at suddenly being flipped upside down, but everything that had been in his stomach was still in the alleyway.

Somewhere between the bar and the batmobile, the Joker passed out. Batman was immensely grateful for the ensuing quiet, but that relief quickly turned to frustration when he attempted to shove the other man inside, whose flailing limbs and dead weight refused to cooperate.

Batman wished he had a trunk that he could just stuff the body in.

Eventually though, he managed to stuff the both of them inside in a way that still allowed him to drive, even if the Joker's elbow was insisting on shoving itself in his armpit. The madman didn't even need knives, his joints were so bony. He could probably shank someone with his hipbones.

Which Batman had only felt in the process of trying to get him inside the car, a perfectly reasonable explanation.

He was already halfway back to the mansion when he realized he wasn't headed in the direction of the police station like he had planned. But the last time the Joker had been incarcerated, it hadn't ended well.

No, it had ended in an escape and seven funerals.

Batman reasoned that it would be safer for him to personally keep an eye on the criminal. And he certainly couldn't just dump him out on the streets. Who knew what he might do hungover and without any supervision?

Besides, this was the first—and would likely be the **only—**time Batman had ever seen the Joker without his face paint. It was possible that in his tired, weakened state he might reveal something about his true identity the next morning.

And that was how Batman picked up a drunken Joker at a seedy bar, watched him dance, and then took him back home.

Batman. The dark knight. Gotham's vigilante. Designated driver.

**A/N: Yeah, so late in the evening, but still on time! Technically. The list of prompts that I have set up in the story summary were just the first ten that came to mind, and I never had any idea how to connect them. I've just been taking them week by week, and they just so happened to work out perfectly thus far.**

**But now sexting is next, and I'm not really sure how I'm going to be able to start that chapter where this one leaves off. If I need to and get inspired with something else, I may just substitute in a different prompt.**

**I'm also completely open to any more suggestions for how the Joker can annoy the Batman next. I have a few more scribbled down somewhere, but new ideas are always welcome!**


	10. Sexting

The Joker woke up with morning breath and a hangover. But other than that, he was surprisingly comfortable. Very comfortable. As if he had fallen asleep in a cloud made of the softest things imaginable, like whipped yogurt and dead kittens.

He gave a long, spine popping stretch and fell back onto the heavenly bed. The sun was bright enough that he had to open his eyes slowly to appease the drunk fuzzies pounding in his skull. Once he had them open, he saw that he was in one of the nicest rooms he had ever seen.

The only reason it wasn't **the** nicest room was because he had seen Bruce's room.

The Joker let out a lazy grin as memories of last night began to filter into his conscious. His smile only dimmed when he realized he had passed out before anything **really** fun could happen. But maybe that was for the best. He was still trying to take things sloooow with his Batsy.

But as much as he was enjoying the hospitality, The Joker decided he'd better leave while he still could. The room didn't agree with that though, and it spun dangerously when he stood. That did little to deter The Joker though. He'd had so many trips, hangovers, and hallucinations that it was almost more disturbing when he was sober.

The door wasn't locked, another pleasant surprise. Perhaps Bruce had just forgot or maybe he was hoping the madman would see himself out. Which The Joker fully intended to do, but as usual, his mind got sidetracked, and he ended up in his will-be-whether-he-consents-or-not lover's room.

This is why he couldn't have plans.

Luckily for him, the billionaire was sound asleep in his bed. Visions of chloroform and handcuffs danced in his head, but The Joker decided not to push his luck. He just wanted to check up on his love, and he was delighted to see that Bruce looked even worse off than he did. Maybe he had been missi—

The Joker's mind abruptly switched tracks to a new train of thought as something occurred to him. He raised a tentative hand to his face.

Well, maybe Bruce **didn't** look worse after all, because fuck it all—he wasn't wearing his facepaint! Batman had probably even seen his real face last night, if not at the bar, then at least when he was passed out.

The Joker bit back a curse and wondered if he needed to find a knife and stab Bruce some. His eyes swept across the room, searching for anything sharp, but it was something else completely that caught his attention.

A cellphone, laying on the nightstand next to the bed.

The Joker stalked over to the nightstand and grabbed the phone. If Bruce had dared to take pictures, he might have to make his love bleed a bit ahead of time. But the phone was password protected and needed a four digit number to get in.

The year of his birth. Access Denied.

His birthday. Access Denied.

The year of...fuck, how old **was** Alfred, anyway? Would that year even start with 19 or would it be 18? Skip it for now.

His mother's birthday. Access Denied.

His father's birthday. Access Denied.

Strange combination of the two. Access Denied.

Rachael's birthday...The Joker hesitated. If this worked, promise or no, the pug faced bitch died...Access Denied.

The Joker paced back and forth beside an oblivious Bruce, trying to think of other common numbers that came in four digits. Historical dates? Meh. Ages maybe? But that was only two digits.

Unless it was two people.

He entered the ages Bruce's parents had been when they died. Access Denied. Again, but this time with the mother first. Access Denied. Ages they would be if they were alive today?

Access Granted.

Well shit, that was depressing. Even The Joker frowned for a moment at that. Bruce **really** needed a therapist. Even the irony of that thought didn't cheer him up. He scrolled through the menu until he reached the photo album which had...

Nothing. Goddamn, Bruce had to be the most depressing person he'd ever met. It was a good thing he had shown up in the billionaire's life when he did, otherwise the vigilante would probably be catatonic by now.

In fact, he should spruce up his photo album a bit. After all, what type of person didn't have pictures on their phone? Depressing people, that's who.

Some unzipping and a few snap shots later, and Bruce's photo album was much better. Now about his contacts...Hate, hate, hate, **loathe**.

The Joker was tempted to reset the password to something a bit more cheerful, like 666, but that was only three digits. Then he thought about using his own birthday, but it wasn't like he remembered when that was, and Bruce certainly wouldn't know it anyway, so he ended up leaving it the same.

He placed the phone back on the nightstand, in exactly the same position as it had been. He gave Bruce one last longingly psychotic gaze, but he knew better than to try to touch the other man, no matter how exhausted he seemed. Instead, he just sighed and walked out the bedroom door.

Straight into Alfred.

They both jumped aside like they had each met a leper, although Alfred somehow managed to perfectly balance the breakfast tray the entire time.

"Goooood morning. Ah-ah, don't worry, I'll uh...see myself out." The Joker tutted. Then with a wink, a giggle, and a whirl, he was out the hall and down the stairs.

"Alfred...?" A groggy voice called from inside the bedroom.

Alfred straightened the tray first, then his back, and stepped into the room. "Here, Master Wayne."

"Please tell me I didn't really bring...him...home last night." Bruce muttered, still half buried beneath covers.

"You did not bring home an unconscious criminal last night. You did not put him in the spare guest room that has been designated as 'his.' He certainly did not just exit your room mere moments before." Alfred dutifully replied.

Bruce sat up as if electrocuted and immediately regretted it as the room spun. "He was _here_?!"

Alfred sighed and set the tray on the nightstand. "Yes, Master Wayne. But please, lay back down. You've been overworking yourself for weeks now, hardly even eating, no sleep at all...you're in no condition to chase after him this morning."

"I...fuck." Bruce finally growled, flopping back against the pillows. He knew his friend was right, but it only made him feel worse.

The moment of relative silence was cut off when his phone rang with the ringtone that had come with the phone that he had never bothered to change. Bruce winced and didn't move.

"Who is it, Alfred?" He asked.

"I don't know, sir."

"Is the number blocked, or is it one of my contacts?" Bruce asked, trying to tamper down his irritation.

"Well the name of the contact is 'pug faced bitch' but the picture is that of an erect penis...sir." Alfred replied.

"GODDAMN HIM!"

* * *

**A/N: So perhaps this isn't truly "sexting." More like, "inappropriate picture taking" since The Joker didn't technically text the picture to Bruce. But I think it was close enough.**

**Last time I asked for prompt suggestions, and I actually got a few replies! What good little minions. But this is 101 ways to annoy Batman, so I can always use more. Tell me your ideas, what you would like to see, or even challenge me, and I'll post a list of the next ten prompts I'll be working with next Friday.**


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